


no other flower has quite the same colour

by Kt_fairy



Series: let the river rush in [11]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Established Relationship, Felching, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Social Anxiety, Tenderness, Weddings, jfj tops, useless navy men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23787940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kt_fairy/pseuds/Kt_fairy
Summary: “Everyone is distracted by talk of the radiant new Mrs Le Vesconte and what she shall wear to travel to the Lake District.” He smiled down at Francis. “She is radiantly happy, is she not?” He took a sip of his wine, then angled himself closer. “Reminds one of one’s own love, and the happiness it brings,” he said in a quiet voice so they might not be overheard, his tone sincere and expression gentle until he ruined it with a raised eyebrow and a rather heavy handed. “The blissful delight of a union.”Francis barely held in a snort, giving the glass held between James’ fingers a meaningful glance. “Is it the wedding or the champagne that has you feeling that way?”James looked at the glass, a slight frown on his face, then around the room, before leaning around Francis to dump the remains of his drink into the blue glazed pot the aspidistra lived in.OrDundy get's married, James feels the vibes of the day, and Francis ends up having a great time.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames, Commander James Fitzjames & Lt Henry T. D. Le Vesconte, Lt Henry T. D. Le Vesconte/Original Character(s)
Series: let the river rush in [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1458220
Comments: 26
Kudos: 75





	no other flower has quite the same colour

**Author's Note:**

> the title is taken from a from 'Six of Crows' - a book I have never read, but I found [ this quote](https://66.media.tumblr.com/0adbd898545f485d7ccfbb0cd84f8648/ef167db58d71fceb-ae/s400x600/5fa5de01ae44f81c0d89c68f861624998844dbb8.jpg) on goodreads-dot-com and I liked it. 
> 
> I've also started to time stamp these so we all know what's happening. 
> 
> One hundred fragrant roses to the divine MsKingBean89 for being patient with my terrible grasp of tenses, always so encouraging, and just downright lovely. <3<3

**\- 1851**

The knock on the door was so loud it startled James, the wooden edge of the headboard catching the back of his head when he jolted in surprise. He swore under his breath as he rubbed at the sore spot, carefully removing the delicate, wire framed glasses he needed to read by candlelight, and slipped them into his bed side table before calling for Henry to come in.

“How did you know it was me?” he asked as he quietly shut the bedroom door, the candle in his hand flickering over the pattern on his light green dressing gown and the disarray of his hair.

“No one else knocks like they are attempting to batter the door from its frame,” James drawled as he watched Henry cross the room. 

“You might have been concentrating on putting curling papers in your hair, so I had to make sure you would hear me.”

James raised his eyebrows at Henry, who shot the look right back at him, before turning away to glance quickly around the room. “Might I have a word with you, James?”

“After that cheek, I would be well within my rights to say no.”

“But you won’t.”

“Of course you may have a word, Dundy,” James set his book aside. “You might have as many as you like, even if you were not to be married tomorrow.”

“Is it that - well, I do suppose my nuptials are the obvious reason, eh,” Dundy muttered as he set his candle down next to James’.

He did not flop out over the bed like James expected, instead he perched on the edge, ankles crossed and hands resting in his lap. Henry did not appear to be so nervous that James worried he might be having second thoughts, but his mouth was pursed and his brow furrowed in such a look of pensiveness that James moved to sit closer, legs crossed before him like a boy.

“Tell me what the matter is.”

“Oh,” Henry shrugged. “Most of the usual things, I should think. And a few unusual ones.”

“As long as you are not going to ask for advice on your wedding night,” James said to try and lighten Henry a little. He tipped his head to the side to look over Henry when he did not react, eyes widening when he caught the blush blooming over his face. “ _Dundy you did not!”_

“Nothing like that! No! Not at all!” Henry protested, frowning for a moment before his embarrassment came back, and he began to curling the cord of his dressing gown up into a tight coil. “No, she -” He swallowed and shifted closer to James so he could whisper to him. “All Miss Campbell’s female relatives and married friends have been telling her what to _expect_.”

“Oh. Goodness.”

“Lottie stowed us somewhere secluded and we talked about all that, and what we wished for in terms of - of those sorts of things. Of children and - ” Henry cleared his throat, blushing so furiously that James thought he might have to fan him. “Which I rather think should be a conversation had before engagements are banded about, really. So I hope there should be -” he glanced over at James. “I do not speak of Miss Campbell so freely out of a lack of respect.”

“Of course. I would never think otherwise.”

“I only wish for her happiness, Jas.”

“I know. You love her very well,” James said softly, sweeping his hand over Henry’s back in an attempt to ease the tightness in his posture. “Henry?” James so rarely used his used christian name that it stilled his fidgeting fingers and drew Henry’s attention directly to James. “Might I be bold, and say that you seem to have a greater anxiety over the matter than the lady does?”

A ripple of uncertainty ran over Henry’s face, and he looked down at his slippered feet. “I do.”

“But not for - not for the same _reason_ , maybe?” James said delicately, knowing the eve of man’s wedding was not the time to bring up his past popularity with the ladies. “There is no shame if there is,” he continued, thinking of the queer nervousness that had come upon him whenever he had done anything with Francis for the first time; be it laying together, or something mundane - like sitting down to breakfast as just the two of them. “Emotion, when deeply felt, can make one nervous about a thing one has done many times before.”

“No,” Henry shook his head slowly, then sighed . “Oh James, it is a silly thing I know. But I - It’s my toes, you see.”  
  


James nodded in silent understanding; a thick, sickly guilt clawing at his gut. James had been the one to persuade Henry to come north with him; had been the one who brought him to that awful place, which was the antithesis of everything cheerful and honest about his friend. The frostbite that he had suffered, everything that Henry had suffered, would always be James’ fault. Even though he knew Henry would never blame him for any of it.

“Lot - Miss Campbell knows. I always wish to be honest with her, you see, and one should know what one is getting when one is marrying... Lottie is practical -” Henry smiled, and James could not help feeling warmed by it “- and not prone to fainting, but the cauterising marks are an unpleasant sight.” He pulled a face, picking up the cord of his dressing gown once more. “One that sometimes makes me feel rather unpleasant also.”

James, who often recoiled when he touched one of his many ugly, gnarled scars, knew that feeling well. He hated them- and yet Francis had never paid them any mind; neither shying away nor making a fuss. He was a lifelong sailor, same as James, used to the marks left by all sorts of wounds and diseases, while also being a man who was capable of great gentleness and care. Who loved fully, and with great warmth. All things that Miss Campbell had in abundance for Henry.

“I know the marks the Arctic left on us both are far from the worst afflictions a man might bear. Yet, it is not always easy to be noble about it,” he agreed sympathetically, shifting closer as he tried to find the words to say. “There is no fault in that. Nor in having such a concern, but - I think you might have lost an eye and a limb like Lord Nelson, and the lady would not love you less.”

“I am not Nelson,” Henry snorted.

“I do not think I should have ever held him to be as dear a friend, as I hold you to be.” 

“What a thing to say!” Henry protested, even thought he looked pleased to hear it.

“I shall say it again and damn who might hear it,” James proclaimed, which made Henry smile. “I should think Miss Campbell would also. I know the lady told Francis that, after first meeting you, she read everything about sailors, and the expedition, that she could.”

“She did,” Henry agreed, his fidgeting fingers calming. 

“The determination she has shown to marry you, sailor and all, despite what a rough lot everyone says we are, and despite the misgivings of her mother and sister -- ”

“What if they are right? Is it fair to marry and go off to sea? Should she not have someone better suited to her? I read a pamphlet on plants that she spoke highly of, but I still know not a damned thing beyond the eating of them - should she not have a gentleman with gardens!”

“Dund - _Henry_ ,” James said, aiming for soothing but heard the edge of authority in his voice. He lay his hand gently on the back of Henry’s neck, their knees pressing together through the blanket, and considered how many times he had endured a similar panic over Francis willingly giving up Miss Cracroft for him. “Love is more than that. If we were only to love perfectly suited people, who bore not a single mark of the world on them, then only a quarter of humanity would ever have been born. If that,” James slipped his arm about him, resting his chin on Henry’s head when he tilted sideways to lean into him. “Miss Campbell cares for you too well to mind the frostbite, nor to pity and coddle you over it. She loves you, and you love her. If you are honest and patient with one another, then all shall fall into place.”

Dundy nodded, patting James’ leg through the blankets, then straightened.

"I know it all logically, but one winds oneself into knots sometimes. It is good to hear it from someone who has it all in place, as it were."

"Of course, my dear."

Henry got a very serious look on his face , and James was beginning to become concerned when, with a tilt of his head, Henry's expression slipped back into its usual easy manner. "You and Crozier both will have to visit us in Portsmouth once we are settled. Lottie would like that."

"Be glad to, old boy."

"And my sisters shall not be there, I promise," Henry said gravely, and James laughed.

"They are spirited," James agreed, and Henry rolled his eyes. "It was very entertaining to have half a dozen wives picked out for me this evening."

"Let us hope Lady Jane's presence shall temper them tomorrow," Dundy said, giving a great sigh as he flopped back onto the bed. He and Miss Campbell had felt compelled to accept Lady Jane's kindness when she insisted the Admiralty let them be married in the magnificent naval chapel in Greenwich, rather than the quiet parish church they had planned. Then, in return, they had felt compelled to invite her. It was nothing to complain about, their being so favoured, but James understood why Henry sighed. "But the _prayers of the wicked_ , and all that."

"Come on," James pressed his toes against Henry’s side, "If you stay here tonight, your dear sisters cannot come and wake you horribly early tomorrow."

"Oh Jas," Henry sighed, kicking off his slippers. "I hope God put’s a flower right on the top of your head."

  
  


* ***** *

Miss Campbell’s mother was weeping, her sister sniffing and dabbing artfully at her eye. Francis could just hear it above the chatter and shuffling of the guests spread out over the elegantly carved wooden pews of the Royal Naval College chapel, but a woman’s tears were, rightfully he knew, impossible to ignore. And would continue to be, as from what Francis knew of Miss Campbell’s sister and mother, they were no doubt planning to weep for the whole damn day.

James would no doubt tut, and tell Francis that he thought he would be more kind about it, but he had never faced true disapproval in his life. Not like Francis had at the hands of Lady Jane. She was sat in the row behind him with Sophia at her side, and despite his best intentions Francis could not help how the impending wedding caused their presence, and all strange, churning mix of emotions that went with it, to loom over him. It made the bright, jovial, _inescapable_ crowd of guests seem too close, and had Francis feeling even more uncomfortable than usual in his uniform.

And, it seemed, more prone to these bitter thoughts. He simply did not wish to see Henry facing the same at the hands of his to-be in-laws.

(Maybe it had been his contradicting of her sister when she had been so unsubtle in her disapproval of sailors, or because he let her quiz him on Antarctic flora, but Miss Campbell had written to him a few times of things she did not wish to worry Henry with; pragmatic questions about frostbite, and scurvy, and how to navigate her dealings Lady Jane Franklin. Francis had done his best to be wise, thinking that James might be better at all this, and she had seemed to find some good in what he said to her. Which he was glad of, for he knew how far a kind word could go.)

Mrs Charlewood, who was sitting between Francis and her husband, did not look at all impressed by the display, while the Le Vesconte sisters, seated in the front row, were coolly paying no attention the Campbell side of the pews. Instead they were giggling and whispering amongst themselves, drawing glances from their brother who looked half amused, and half as if he wished he could leave the altar to see what their giddiness was about. 

“Does Le Vesconte not look well, Edward. No _nervous_ pacing at all - quite cool and calm.” Mrs Charlewood whispered teasingly to her husband, who nodded, giving Francis a look as if he were a midshipman stood before an admiral, then faced forward again. 

Mrs Charlewood sighed fondly, shaking her head so her red ringlets bounced against her intricately weaved straw bonnet. She turned to smile at Francis, her twinkling grey eyes turning into joyous half moons that gave her a charming look of mischief that, according to James, had been the thing to steal his roguish friends heart. “You Navy men look very well in your uniforms. The polished buttons come up so nicely.”

“They do,” Francis agreed, glancing down at his own uniform that Daisy had forced him to hand over so she could polish and press it into this uncomfortably neat state that would have met Jopson's standards; if the Lieutenant was not currently in the Atlantic chasing down slavers.

“They are quite a trouble to polish,” he informed her. "It has not been my duty for a good many years now, but I remember from when I was a boy that the effort was always worth it.”

“The effect is most pleasing. Most pleasing,” Mrs Charlewood smiled widely, brushing a hand over her striped skirts. “And do Commander Le Vesconte and Sir James not look like the very pride of the navy.”

Francis thought that they did, and told Mrs Charlewood so. 

Henry looked as merry as always, wearing his uniform as if it were no more trouble than a dressing gown, the only sign of any nerves the occasional shifting onto his toes before dropping back onto his heels. He was staring up at the painting of wreck and salvation that towered above the gilded altar (Francis did not know his scripture well enough to identify it, but it seemed doomful stuff to look at before a wedding), which James had turned his back to. Instead he gazed up at the paintings of apostles and holy men that presided over the raised gallery that ran all the way from organ to altar. 

The chapel was neither gaudy, nor oppressively dour and protestant. The oppressive eye of God was not here, instead it was as light and graceful as anything Christopher Wren had ever created; decorated in all the pale, barely there colours of the first glow of daylight over a calm, cold spring sea. The warmth complimented the rich blue of the naval uniforms, and softened all the gaudy gold they were draped in, and - of course - suited James very well.

He was looking up at the gilded rosettes on the ceiling, hands clasped loosely behind his back, his posture less correct and his presence less commanding than was usual when he wore his dress uniform. For today he was no grand captain of the fleet; instead James was simply a man stood by his friend. 

Francis had always liked James best when he was nothing more than himself. Which was just as well, he thought as James’ gaze slid across the echoing room to land on him, a smile lighting his eyes - as that was the man who Francis felt a great, great deal for.

“ _Oh, Sophy, there she is_ ,” he heard Lady Jane say. Which was as much warning as he got for the church organ blaring out, startling the life out of everyone.

Francis tugged down the front of his dress coat as he stood, and turned along with everyone else for a glimpse of the bride. 

Miss Campbell was resplendent in shining cream silk (decorated in ‘white work embroidery’ according to Mrs Charlewood), cut elegantly and without fuss, the delicate lace veil sitting lightly over her twisted and plaited auburn hair that was dotted with flowers. 

She was as lovely as a bride could wish to be, Francis was sure. The robust, bearded Mr Campbell who escorted her looking as bittersweet as any doting father who was to give his daughter away. And Henry, when he finally saw her, utterly moonstruck. 

* ***** *

The sun broke clear of the clouds halfway through the ceremony, lighting up the inside of the chapel as if it were a dream, and James had found himself needing to force down a lump of emotion. He had never been one to be overtaken by sentimentality, especially in public; but with the happiness of the occasion, and Miss Cam - Mrs _Le Vesconte’s_ gentle smile when she looked to her groom - who in turn looked joyously astonished - he thought it was only right to be so affected.

James had managed to get a hold on himself in time to smack Henry heartily on the back after he had kissed his wife. Then to take on a suitably sombre manner for when the Naval Chaplin (a fellow with a voice far louder than his spare build would have one believe) gave a rather tub-thumping blessing to all in attendance before dismissing the guests as smartly as if he were an admiral. 

The wedding party remained behind to sign the registry, the Chaplain taking the opportunity to give another rather impassioned sermon about the ‘pure and sacred delight’ of matrimony. The man was completely oblivious to the matching looks of puzzlement he was receiving from the new Mrs Le Vesconte and her father; of Henry making several attempts to sign his name when he thought the chaplain had finished speaking; and of Mrs Campbell, who was making a point of dabbing her eye. 

"Bella, dear. Might you come and aid me with my sleeve," Mrs Le Vesconte called to her bridesmaid who was standing a little way behind James, cutting the Chaplain off in the middle of a protracted Amen. "I should hate to stain the silk with ink," she informed the room, as if she had ever been so untidy in her writing.

"Oh, yes cousin," the girl said in an eager, breathless rush as she hurried over the pristine tiled floor, only to skid to an indecisive halt when she realised she had the bride's bouquet in her hands.

"Miss Davidson, might I hold that for you?" James asked gently, taking a polite step towards her.

"Oh no, Sir James," she spoke quietly and quickly, pale brown eyes not rising further than his chest. "I could not possibly ask you to - you are a captain sir, I should be ashamed to have you hold flowers!"

"The needs of a dear friend's bride might force even the greatest of men to hold flowers, miss. Please."

Miss Davidson became a rather alarming shade of pink when she handed the bouquet over, James being careful not to let their gloved fingers touch lest the poor girl take fright.

It was a fine bouquet. A pretty arrangement of fragrant myrtle flowers - the same that were dotted amongst the twists of the bride's auburn hair - alongside delicate lily of the valley, a few pale yellow dahlia's from her own garden, as well as orange blossom’s that were a bright, startlingly pure white. 

He glanced around to check that everyone was distracted before taking a deep breath of the delicate scent of the flowers, allowing himself a small smile as he thought of how similar they were to the ones Francis would gift him.

“I say, Jas -” Henry said suddenly once the flowers had been safely handed back, allowing James to give his uniform a quick neaten while Mrs Le Vesconte's veil was fussed over by her mother. James glanced up from adjusting Henry's sword belt, pausing when he saw the rather serious look on his face. “Jas. I am very happy.”

“I know it.”

"I. Well. I suppose I should have said this to you last night, but I thought I had already caused enough fuss,” Henry frowned, shaking his head when James went to reassure him. “No James let me speak or I shall never get it out. Look, I feel like I must say that - it is a damn shame that my parents are gone to Canada. I should have liked them to see me married, but - but I am most glad that you are here. Do you understand? We were almost entirely lost. You were almost…” Henry reached to grip James’ arm quickly. “Sentiments abound today, I know. We are two contented fellows with our happiness in good order. I wish to say that it makes me very glad James.”

The emotion James had forced down earlier came back so quickly it almost choked him. He swallowed hard past it, and could only nod for a moment as he knew speaking might bring on an embarrassing spate of tears. James took a deep, steadying breath before meeting Henry’s slightly dewy eyes, and managed a smile for him. “As am I. I am very - I dare say that you are the only man in the whole city who is happier than I."

"Now you risk hyperbole," Dundy told him with a wobbly smile, allowing the weight of the moment to disperse into the air around them.

"I shall risk what I like,” James declared, clearing his throat when his voice cracked. “Now, go and attend to your bride.”

Dundy nodded, eyes sliding back to his wife who was smiling at them both.

The great curving steps into the Naval Chapel descended into a bright ante-room whose walls were lined with memorials to those who had died gloriously in the service. On one side of the room the doors opened out onto the rather unpicturesque muddy banks and wooden jetties of the Thames; on the other, to one of the great, grand stone colonnades of the stately old Naval College with its elegant clock towers and sweeping buildings - more a palace than a college. 

The Le Vesconte sisters, gaily decked out in yellow check and shimmering blue, led the attack with the rice, their laughter echoing brightly down the grey stone columns when Ned Charlewood darted forward and attempted to stuff a handful down the back of Henry’s uniform, relenting graciously when the new Mrs Le Vesconte batted him away with a smile. 

It was a jolly scene of people cheering and clapping. Even Francis was smiling, standing quietly near the back of the crowd wit his attention half turned to Miss Cracroft who was speaking rapidly to him. 

James turned back to Henry, who was being embraced by his gentle cousin Henrietta. Then, realising that Lady Jane was not by Miss Cracroft, James looked about for her with a mounting sense of the inevitable that culminated with the lady appearing at his shoulder. 

“What a fine, clement day for a wedding, Sir James,” she stated after they exchanged greetings. 

“Indeed it is. I am very glad that the breeze has remained a sou-eastern one. Bringing clean air and warmth with it.”

“A sailor can always be depended upon to know the weather,” Lady Jane stated proudly. “Although I think this might be one of the last pleasant days of the year.”

“Autumn comes on fast, yes.”

“And spring all the faster,” she said sagely, and James had been backed into this conversation enough times over the past few weeks to know what was coming. “Which is a fine time of year to be married, do you not agree?”

“It is a very pleasant season on land, yes.”

“And there are a very many pleasant young ladies here today, might any one of them tempt you to a spring wedding, Sir James?”

James appreciated Lady Jane's frankness; she got to a point without deception, was always honest, and expected one to be frank in return. “It is kind of you to ask, but my thoughts have all been full of Commander Le Vesconte’s nuptials. And before that I was away with the Mediterranean fleet, as you know. I have not considered -” 

“Which is why you _should_ marry,” she said with kind eagerness, wide eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “So when you return home from sea, you would have the stability and continuity that only a wife could provide.”

“Sir John often said the same - ” James put in before she could deploy that part of her arsenal, and then felt like the very worst kind of man when sadness crossed her face. “I am sure I shall have time at the wedding breakfast to speak to all the guests,” he said in order to make her happy, content that it would not be a lie. 

She made a noise as if she did not quite believe him but did not press the issue, giving him a look much like an indulgent aunt would, when something caught her eye. “I believe Commander Charlewood wishes to attract your attention,” she observed, directing his gaze to one of the immaculate lawns where Ned was standing beckoning to James, his fair curls slipping from their neat parting. 

“So he is.”

She shook her head. “Such a boisterous man. And yet so nervous around Francis. I cannot account for it.”

“Francis has the bearing of a firm captain,” James said fondly. “And Commander Charlewood’s _boisterousness_ \- as you said madam - has often found him needing to avoid such men in order to keep his rank.”

Lady Jane smiled, obviously amused. “You should attend to him before he does himself a mischief. I shall speak to you later at the wedding breakfast, Sir James.”

He bowed to her, then went to drop down from the raised colonnade onto the path. He ran his gloved hands over his dress coat with a sigh that was heavier than he thought it would be, ensuring all was in order as he made a point of not crossing the lawns while making his way to Ned. 

One was always buffeted about from one thing, or person, to the next at weddings; they were worse for it than balls, especially if one was in the wedding party. James was always glad to help his friends, of course, to open his home and do all that he was able for them, but it would have been nice to have a moment with Francis amongst all this.

James glanced about at the thought of him, making a point of not looking out for the flattering shade of pale green Miss Cracroft was dressed in. He smiled to himself when he caught sight of Francis keeping out of the way along with Mr Campbell; the pair of them were too straightforward for all the fuss going on around the bride and groom, Mr Campbell even causing Francis to smile at something while he fiddled with the gold thread stiffened collar of his dress uniform.

The day was young still, James thought as he paused to say hello to Henry’s uncle, and indeed it was only one day - not the months at sea that James had just returned from. Nevertheless, the romance of a wedding between two people who were so in love turned one's thoughts over to the softer emotions, and to who one felt them for.

Ned met James on the path, their shoulders knocking as he steered James towards the cabs and carriages that the guests were congregating around. “We are needed to direct guests,” Ned explained. “And before you say it, it was not urgent enough a task for me to approach Lady Franklin. I have no idea what I should say to the lady.”

“She will speak to you eventually. Lady Jane always makes sure to share a word with everyone she meets.”

“Ah, but then I will have my Sarah with me. She always knows what to say.” Ned said fondly.“That’s if Lady Franklin is not trying to marry you off again.”

“Was it so obvious?”

“Three desires rear their head at weddings,” Ned said sagely, listing each point off on his fingers. “Desire to drink too much, desire to see everyone else married, and _desire_ itself.”  
  


“Christssake, Ned,” James muttered, feeling his ears heat.

“It is true! Not to worry, I shan't insult your delicate sensibilities further, old boy,” Ned grinned as he thumped James on the back. "Now, remember we are not on the quarterdeck, and these fine people will not take kindly to either your volume, nor to being directed as if part of a barrage.“

“I could certainly get them moving smartly,” James muttered, allowing Ned to push him into the milling crowd of civilians that parted before him as sloppily as merchant ships.

  
  


* ***** *

Francis did not care at all for entertaining, but he was glad that the dining room - _their_ dining room, well appointed and angled westwards to catch the afternoon sun, was finally hosting a dinner more worthy of it than the occasional gathering of naval officers and the odd relative. 

The long table was of a very fine red-ish mahogany, the same as all the sideboards and other sundry furniture which were all covered in the delicate blue flowers that had been especially chosen by the bride to decorate the light, spacious room. She was sat at the centre place, flushed no doubt from a mixture of happiness, the heat of the crowded room, and from how she was matching her husband for the amount of wine going through her glass. 

The Campbell family had no property large enough in London to host the wedding breakfast, and so James had offered the house for the meal. There had been a whip around of staff for the occasion also, cooks and footmen and maids, so the ground floor of the house felt almost as full of servants as guests, and the dining room so packed of merriment and movement it felt like a dockside after the fleet had been paid.

Francis was used to close quarters, and to the usual din it brought. But despite that, and the happiness and friendliness of all about him, he had still needed to take a moment to fortify himself at his own front door before joining all the noise and bustle filling the house.

“I dare say that we shall take our lead from the sailors amongst us,” Lady Jane had proclaimed happily when she had been seated. “And be jolly for the occasion, and to have so many fine friends close at hand.”

“T’is far better to have a table that is too full than with chairs left empty!” Mr Campbell declared from the other side of Lady Jane, nodding politely to her as a murmur of agreement ran around the table.

“How unpleasant would it be to sit a genteel distance away at a wedding,” Henry’s cousin, Miss Henrietta Le Vesconte, agreed from next to Francis, turning her long, pale face to him. “A crowd always makes it more jolly, do you not think?”

“I grew up amongst many siblings, and then went to the Navy. So I am more used to it than not,” Francis admitted, heartened to see a spark of recognition in her eyes rather than the superior look that fact, along with his accent, usually won him. 

“I too was raised surrounded by a pack of siblings and cousins,” she said knowingly. “A full room is a comfort, but it makes one value ones solitude also.”

“Indeed,” Francis agreed quietly, for he was feeling the full, crowded nature of the day. He was glad that Mrs Charlewood was sat on his other side so he would not have to ease himself into conversation with yet another person. He was not as reticent as he had been, when shyness made him poor conversation, which in turn made him self-conscious and ill-tempered. 

The Passage had made those things matter less. James, who had never become frustrated that dry land and society robbed Francis of any self-assuredness he managed to find at sea, made those things matter less.

James was sitting between the bridesmaid, who still looked half terrified of him, and one of friends of the new Mrs Le Vesconte. Francis had not caught her name, but she was young, and very fair, and when she was not making Sophia smile in that tight way of hers, she was trying to charm James. Who was being warm and polite as ever, but his interest lay less in her direction and more towards the dinner currently being served. 

There was mock turtle soup, then white fish, and then pigeon pie and cutlets alongside a ham- a great glazed joint of it - served with potatoes and vegetables roasted with spices and butter. Jellies ended the meal; opaque, oddly coloured monstrosities that always made Francis feel uneasy, and a large Apple Charlotte that was greeted with laughter and protestations from the guests at the pun.

Wine flowed freely throughout the dinner, bottles of claret and champagne - which Francis had always thought tasted sour when he had been in the habit of drinking - being emptied with great rapidity. There were many toasts that were met eagerly and with great sincerity, and although Francis did not partake in the alcohol, and neither had he ever been much of a glutton, he enjoyed the unfailingly festive, informal atmosphere all the same. 

Lady Jane seemed easier in manner than Francis had seen in a good long while. There was no fevered spark about her today, nor any weight to her direct gaze; and glad as Francis was to not fear that she was about to turn to him and demand answers to the holes she had picked into their lies, he was also glad to see her so content. Even laughing at a comment or two from those seated about her. They had been friends once, Lady Jane and he, and despite all the hurt she had caused him, Francis hoped he had never been the man to begrudge a widow some happiness. Nor hold a rather forceful sort of kindnesses against a woman trying to do right by her husband's memory.

She had not cast Sophia in James’ direction all day, which he was glad of, and nor did she send a disapproving glance his way whenever he had spoken to Sophia. Not even when she made her way to his side while they were departing the room after the cake had been cut. 

Sophia had always managed to appear as if their meetings were by chance, even when she had planned them. A thing Francis, in hindsight, had never much liked. “Miss Cracroft,” he greeted cordially, keeping his hands firmly behind his back. “Did you find the breakfast as pleasant as the ceremony?”

“It was very pleasant, yes,” she said, keeping her even keeled voice low. “Rather loud and - the guests have made _incredibly_ merry.”

“It is a wedding,” he advised gently, raising his eyebrows when she looked at him

“I know. I have been rather used to a more formal setting since we came home from Van Diemen's land.”

“The joys of London society,” Francis replied, remembering how they would stand aside at galas or banquets, commenting on how ridiculous and pompous everyone was. And then she had said that he was too Irish to marry. 

James’ laughter, buoyant and loud, came from up ahead, and Francis did not allow himself to dwell on that thought a moment longer.

“Lady Jane has enjoyed herself, it seems?”

“Oh yes. I am glad auntie came,” Sophia smiled warmly, eyes flicking over the paintings that decorated the hallway - a few bold modern artists beside grand, unsettled Turner seascapes - landing on where James and Henry were having a quick conversation at the foot of the stairs. “It is good to see her enjoy company for its sake,” she turned back to Francis and smiled. “And to see you of course.”

They spoke about nothing much at all, in that polite way of people who were talking for the sake of it, their conversation not coming as easily as it had that morning. It had been a long day of being sociable for them both, and whereas once they had been a safe harbour to one another in the midst of company, this was now more habit than anything else. More effort than a moment of calm, especially when Francis was feeling stretched thin already.

Sophia went to Lady Jane with a small, wan smile, and Francis found himself in his usual spot by the potted plants; trying to disappear into the wallpaper while the guests milled around the parlour inspecting the furnishings, or looking at Raphael’s serene St Sebastian that was hung high on the wall, while talking among themselves as they all waited for the couple to change into their travelling clothes before waving them off.

He was not about to wholly withdraw now that the day was almost done, but he did wish it would end sooner. He checked his pocket watch for something to occupy him, and was amazed that it was only four o’clock in the afternoon. He looked about as he slipped it back into his pocket, and found James standing half in the doorway, watching him. He was still as immaculate as when he had left the house that morning, somehow, even if he had a dull light of inebriation in his eye.

Francis raised an eyebrow at him, and James raised both of his in return. It was the only communication they had shared all day, and Francis was more glad of it than he should most likely be. 

They had kept their distance since Henry and his sisters had arrived the day before, as they were neither complacent nor foolish, so it was something of a jolt when James let his knuckles brush over Francis’ hip as he came to stand next to him.

“That was far too bold,” Francis muttered, feeling a blush working its way up under his uncomfortable collar.

“Everyone is distracted by talk of the radiant new Mrs Commander Dundy and what she shall wear to travel to the Lake District.” He smiled down at Francis. “She is radiantly happy, is she not?” He took a sip of his wine, then angled himself closer. “Reminds one of one’s own love, and the happiness it brings,” he said in a quiet voice so they might not be overheard, his tone sincere and expression gentle until he ruined it with a raised eyebrow and a rather heavy handed. “The blissful _delight_ of a union.”

Francis barely held in a snort, giving the glass held between James’ fingers a meaningful glance. “Is it the wedding or the champagne that has you feeling that way?”

James looked at the glass, a slight frown on his face, then around the room, before leaning around Francis to dump the remains of his drink into the blue glazed pot the aspidistra lived in. 

“ _James!”_

“What? If I am seen, maybe it will take the gloss from the marriageable package I seem to be,” James grimaced, then looked regretful that he had tipped away his drink. 

“ _Seem_ to be. You’ve been a flag captain, James.”

“Oh let me be modest in my bewailing, would you." James muttered, his face brightening into a polite smile for Daisy when she appeared to take the empty glass from him. “Ah, Daisy. Everyone behaving themselves and having a grand time?”

“The guests are behaving, yes,” she said easily, and Francis almost laughed. 

“Does it vex you so?” Francis asked once they were alone again. “The machinations?”

“Of course it does. It is finding oneself being managed as much as it is having to - to discourage ladies who are perfectly lovely," he adjusted his cuff with a careless little tug, then glanced over at Francis. "Does it not bother you?”

“As suitable as the prospects might be, I do not think any might tempt you,” Francis murmured, amused, but felt James stiffen beside him. He glanced up to see the pinch of tension around James’ eyes that were set on Sophia, and held in a sigh. 

He was rather tired of this doubt that James could not seem to shake off, and was in no mood for it now. Especially when James looked so effortlessly handsome and poised in his uniform, while Francis just wanted to take the damned stifling thing off.

He would not sigh or bring any attention to his irritation, especially as he knew any concern from James would only make him more exasperated. Now was not the time for that, not when he had made it through the day without being peevish once, and especially not when the happy couple had just come barrelling down the stairs in a fit of laughter that filled up the hallway and followed them into the room.

  
  


* ***** *

James would not say that it was a relief for the wedding to be done with. He had enjoyed the day immensely, even when shepherding people about like a midshipman, but it was always nice to reclaim one’s house. Although it did feel somewhat anticlimactic, much like the orderly calm that fell after the frenetic activity of sailing a ship out of port. All that noise and action only to - hopefully - sail easily onward through tranquil waters. 

The newly married Le Vesconte’s had departed in a cheerful swirl that had spilled out onto the front step and drew some neighbours to their windows to watch. Henry had dipped his head to every lady and given every man a hearty sake of the hand, and allowed Ned to pull him into an embrace that lifted him clear off the ground - much to everyone’s amusement.

The new Mrs Le Vesconte had found Francis in the crowd, and called James to her with a gentle motion of her gloved hand. “Before I say my farewells to all,” she had said, tilting her head in a birdlike way so she could look at them both around the edges of her bonnet. “I must thank you both for opening your house to us, and for all you have done for Henry,” she said to James, then turned her wide smiling eyes to Francis. “And for all kind words and support, and indispensable _honesty_ you have given me.”

“I was happy to do it, madam” Francis had said, face heating at the attention.

“Charlotte,” she said firmly, looking at them both. “I insist.”

They in turn had assured her she might use their christian names, and then Charlotte had stepped as close as the wide skirt of her brown checked travelling dress might allow; a conspiratorial, dimpled smile on her flushed face. “I must admit, I sometimes slip and use Sir Jas, as my Henry is wont to do.”

She had gone on to embrace her dewy eyed father, and her mother and sister who were finally in a state of happiness that the day demanded (no doubt helped along by Lady Franklin extolling the virtues of serving naval officers), and Henry had rushed over to clasp their hands wordlessly one last time, looking so bright and content that James had yet again almost been overtaken by that ridiculous happiness one felt at weddings. 

Then, in a chorus of cheers, and a pelting of silk slippers thanks to Henry’s sisters and the Charlewood’s, the couple were up into the carriage and finally away, waving the whole way up the street. 

The guests had thankfully dispersed quickly after that, taking most of the flowers with them, and the house, that did not normally witness more chaos and activity than what two old naval captains could muster, rang with the sudden stillness. The collection of servants that had been gathered for the day were busy rearranging things and tidying up, but they were quiet and efficient as they went about their business, and after a whole day of being required James found himself at somewhat of a loose, and a little tipsy, end.

Francis had vanished, but that was no surprise. For as fine as he looked in his well tailored dress uniform, he had never been comfortable either wearing it, nor being the glistening bauble it made of a man. James would rather he make a wordless disappearance to rid himself of it, and have a moment of quiet after the busy day, than stand about with James being quite useless while Daisy saw to putting the house to rights.

“Ah, Daisy,” James went to fall into step beside her as she strode towards the back of the house, carrying a large empty vase in her hands. “Might you see to it that everyone has a glass of something to thank them, in honour of the day and all that.”

"Thank you, sir. Of course. Will you be wanting anything else this evening?”

“Only strong tea in an hour or two, I should think,” he sighed, raking his hand through his hair simply because he could, and detoured towards the stairs. “If you have everything in order, I’m off to flop out somewhere and keep out of your way.”

“Aye, sir.” 

“And before you think it…!” James called when he set his foot on the bottom step, leaning on the banister to look down at Daisy. “I shall _not_ be leaving parts of my uniform scattered about the upstairs drawing room.”

“Much obliged to you, sir,” she replied, amusement plain on her face. 

“Not when you did too fine a job of making us look so neat!” he called as he set up off the stairs at his usual pace, having to slow down when the tassels on his epaulettes began to jangle dangerously. 

He plodded up to the second floor with hardly a thought in his head, but hesitated when he stepped onto the landing, his gaze falling on the half open door to Francis’ room. James was not arrogant enough to think he was a soothing balm to all the stresses Francis' natural shyness brought him, but he did not like to leave Francis as ill at ease as he had been after dinner. Backing into the corner of the room like he had not done since their return.

A mutter that James took to mean ‘come in’ answered his knock on the door frame, and he slipped into the tidy room that was well lit by the mid afternoon sunshine that slanted across the patterned counterpane on the bed, and lit all the pleasant rosewood furniture set against the high walls. Francis had discarded his dress coat onto the chair for his writing desk, and must have put his shoes away as he was standing in his stockinged feet when he turned to face James. His hair had fallen out of its tidiness, and he had undone the collar of his crisp linen shirt that had become rucked under one of his braces. 

As well as he looked in uniform and frock coats and well tailored silk waistcoats, James thought Francis looked very fine indeed in shirt sleeves. And he let his eyes trail all over Francis as he closed the door decisively behind himself.

He was about to say something rather heavy handed and flirtatious, but then noticed the tightness in Francis’ expression and his posture, and closed his mouth just as Francis said flatly, “I will not argue with you about Sophia.”

“The. I wh -” James stammered, wholly unaware that they were in the midst of a disagreement. “Why would I argue with you about the lady?”

“I do notice that when marriage or prospects are mentioned that you cannot help glance at her,” he said shortly, a softer emotion than anger settling on his face. “I do not know why you do not believe me when I tell you there is no lingering hope there.”

James was aware that he had fallen into that old habit today. The embarrassment he felt at having been noticed was matched by his annoyance that he was being taken to task when the only thing that had been in his head was burgeoning amorous thoughts. 

“That is my own long held doubt and worry, a thing that can not be washed away in only two years!” he snapped. James could easily throw out an accusation that Francis was only so riled because the day had been a reminder of his old hopes with Miss Cracroft; but it would be neither fair, nor true. “It is no reflection of what I know, or think about you. ”

“It does not always feel that way,” Francis said, his voice laced with enough fragile honestly that James felt his anger fold in on itself like a fan.

“Then I would have you tell me, Francis. So I might reassure… we are both clumsy in this still, we both know that, but -…” James paused as he watched Francis run a hand over his face and up through his hair, and crossed the room to him. “It has been a long, busy, crowded day, has it not?”

“You skirt close to condescension,” Francis told him without any real bite as he looked up at James. He knew well that Francis had blue eyes, but when his mood and the light was right, James thought their shade was really quite remarkable. “And do not look at me like that while I am being disagreeable.”

“Look at you in what way?”

Francis became petulant a moment, before looking away as he muttered, “like I am lovely.”

“ _Francis_ -”

“Yes I know. I am usually being disagreeable.”

“You are not,” James said gently, becoming aware of how formally dressed he was when he caught the glint of all the gold on his cuff as he reached out to grasp Francis’ arm. “At least not always with me. I know you too well to take it personally.”

The tension in Francis sagged, and he shifted on his feet as he reached up to lay his hand on the one grasping his arm. “I did enjoy the day. I was not uncomfortable, the company was pleasant. Only the last hour was rather a stretch - it was no reason to be so short with you, James.”

"All is forgiven," James said as lightly as he was able; for he had taken no offence, had not lost his temper, and a wedding was a poorer day than most to argue. "If there was anything to forgive at all. For if we held every snap or snarl against one another, we would not be here now, would we?"

"No,” Francis agreed, eyes trailing over James before he caught himself and snapped his gaze up to meet James’. He flushed, a self deprecating look on his face as he joked, “who am I to contradict a captain?”

“Who indeed,” James grinned, the spat forgotten as he shifted closer. “We must gain some boon from being so ridiculously trussed up.”

“You know very well how fine you look,” Francis muttered. “As did everyone else.”

“And yet I am only glad to know that I am pleasing to your eye,” James said as he curled his fingers under Francis’ braces, running them up and down the worm silk backing as he ducked to kiss Francis’ cheekbone. 

“We were having cross words a moment ago,” Francis pointed out, even as he tilted his face towards James’.

“And cross words have never led to desire?” James smiled. “Nor weddings make people walk the same path.”

“Is that the reason you came thundering up the stairs?” Francis asked, smiling when James laughed. 

“It was certainly the reason I closed the door,” James murmured, cupping Francis’ face as he kissed him.

Francis slipped his arm around James’ waist as they pressed together, hands wandering familiar paths over shoulders and down backs, fingers brushing against thighs and over the delicate buttons on Francis’ shirt as they kissed. James bent his attention to the vulnerable skin of Francis’ throat, smoothing his hand over the waistband of Francis’ trousers before dipping his fingers beneath.

James stilled when Francis reached back to grasp his wrist, prepared to move away if Francis did not wish for anything more than kisses. He pulled back when Francis moved his hand lower, and there followed a series of commutative looks and raised brows that ended in laughter and more kisses.

“Yes,” Francis assured as he started on the buttons of James’ collar, flush darkening when James slipped his hand down the back of Francis’ trousers to grasp at his firm, and rather shapely, backside. 

Getting James out of his dress uniform felt as if it took an age; there were _hundreds_ of buttons to undo, and the whole thing was so starched, and the cuffs so stiff with gold thread, that it became more difficult to remove the faster one tried to get it off. 

James stretched his arms once he was free, slipping his braces from his shoulders and his shoes from his feet while he watched Francis turn down the bed. He moved to press against his back, running his hands down Francis’ broad chest and into his trousers to take his cock in hand as he kissed over the back of Francis’ neck. He pushed back against James when he scraped his teeth over the hinge in his jaw, twisting enough to slot their mouths together when James rocked against his lower back.

They only parted long enough for James to get the slick stuff, Francis divesting himself of his trousers in a few economical movements while James made rather a production of getting his long legs out of his. Kicking them away before pressing against Francis’ warm back once again.

Francis placed a knee up on the bed when James directed him to, grasping onto the arm James wrapped about his chest while he coaxed Francis open in every way he knew brought bliss. Kissing the side of his face and murmuring encouragements when Francis gasped and groaned.

He had always been willing to be led when he had James, intent on giving pleasure as much as receiving it. Apart from a few requests and advising motions that James of course followed with attentive dedication, he was also content for James to guide him when the ways were reversed.

Francis got onto his knees on the bed when James encouraged him to, knowing it brought Francis the greatest pleasure, even if he was often shy of positioning himself so. James joined him quickly, kissing the small of Francis’ back and running his hands over his strong thighs and up to grasp his waist before sitting up, raking his hair back off of his face.

“Oh,” James sighed as he slipped in with great care. He stroked over Francis’ back and sides to try and sooth any discomfort, sighing again when Francis adjusted his legs and relaxed. “There we are,” James breathed, pressing a gentle palm to Francis’ lower back to get him to angle his hips just so. “That’s the way,” he said, giving Francis’ backside a squeeze, enjoying the view, before dropping forward to press against his back. 

James tucked his face into Francis’ neck, one hand planted on the bed beside Francis’ own while he slipped the other under his shirt to press against the centre of his chest. He rolled his hips slowly to begin with, enjoying the sensation of being so joined, only increasing his pace when Francis’ steady breathing took on a hitch and he dropped down onto his elbows.

Tossing his hair out of his eyes, James reached out to brace himself against the headboard that began to creak in time with the unpolished rhythm of his thrusts. James gripped Francis’ hip to angle him better and to anchor himself, lest the lingering headiness of the day and the wonderful tightness of Francis’ body overcome him.

“That’s the way,” Francis threw back at him, a smile clear in his breathless voice that trailed off into a groan. James laughed, pushing all of his hair out of his face as he curled himself around Francis in order to kiss his temple. Francis turned his head and James kissed his cheek and then the corner of his bitten lips as James reached for his prick.

The world narrowed down to the feeling of Francis pushing back against his thrusts, to the sound of the choked, breathless noises Francis always tried not to make, to the clenching heat of his body. 

James was distantly aware that he was beginning to grunt out the odd oath and lewd compliment as the warmth gathered deep in his abdomen began to tighten. For the sake of his own pride he took control of himself and forced the feeling back, letting it build between them until Francis shoved James’ hand away to take over frigging himself.

He placed his hand on Francis’ lovely backside when he straightened, chasing his pleasure until he had to move away to finish. Being used so thoroughly was not to everyone's taste, and James would not have Francis feel impelled to allow him that liberty. 

Francis reached back to grab onto his thigh when James began to slip out, hauling him back. It was such a demanding gesture that James felt his prick throb where it was buried deep inside of Francis, and found that he was in no state of mind or body to argue.

James slipped his hand up Francis’ shirt, rucking it up his back as James held onto the curving muscle of his shoulder. James swept his thumb over the warm skin and the freckles he knew were there as he buggered Francis with as much purpose and vigour as he dared muster, until he felt the curled heat in his gut pull taut and he lost himself. 

James took a moment to catch some of his breath once his boiling, insistent pleasure had softened into warm satedness, aware that he’d had only the vaguest thought for Francis’ release while he had been spilling inside of him. He blew his hair out of his face as he pulled away, smoothing his hand over the pinked skin on Francis’ backside as he considered the well used place where his prick had just been. 

Oh, it was a lewd thought that came to him. James had allowed Francis to put his mouth on him in that way before, but it had never a thing considered after a fuck, and James felt his face burn even as he dared do it now.

Francis froze, as if not believing what he felt. James swallowed, then grasped at Francis’ thigh as he used his tongue on him, and Francis let out a broken sound of shock as a great tremble ran though him. 

James was pushed away, thinking that he was about to be told off, before realising, with an embarrassed thrill, that he had made Francis lose himself so easily. 

There was nothing but their breathing and the distant, busy sound of the house a moment, then Francis muttered, “Jesus Christ,” and sat up. James reached out to steady him, helping to pull his shirt back down, and raised his eyebrows when Francis turned away from the wetness and gave James a wide eyed look. “ _Jesus Christ_ James.”

“I am rather shocked myself, to be honest,” James admitted, knowing that he was still just as red as Francis. They looked as stunned as a couple of ship’s boys who had just worked out what all the fuss over fucking was about. Francis’ broke first into his sweet, gap-toothed smile that made James grin helplessly. 

“Go and wash your mouth so I might kiss you!” Francis ordered with no small amount of amusement.

James stumbled off the bed and over to the basin. He rinsed his mouth then dampened two cloths, one he scrubbed over his face and prick ,and the other he brought back to Francis. 

“I should have asked, I know,” James said as he knelt on the bed by Francis. “Might I blame passion?”

“Christ James, after that you might blame whatever you like,” Francis said, stunned laughter bubbling through him. He reached out to James who slid easily into his lap, throwing the damp cloth off the bed as he nuzzled in to kiss Francis.

* ***** *

“Francis,” James said much, much later, while the sun was setting and the house was empty, and still, and theirs once more.

He was wearing Francis’ new paisley dressing gown and nothing else, squatting before the fire that lit him all shades of bright honey and dark treacle. Visibly proud of his successful attempt to be the first ever gentleman to make tea for himself. 

“Yes,” Francis said from where he was sitting up in bed, watching James pour the tea into the cups. Daisy, who was ever astute, had left the tea-service outside of their bedroom door a little while earlier; her purposefully unsubtle, heavy footed approach breaking them rather abruptly out of the lingering glow of their intimacy that they had been basking in.

“Do you suppose our honeymoon consisted of us me sailing off with the Mediterranean fleet, only to ignore you for the month after we were reunited?” James asked as he crossed the room, carefully watching the china cups he held in each hand as if fearing he might spill it all.

“You did not ignore me,” Francis told him as he took the cup James held out to him, pulling back the blankets so James could get in.

“I might as well have,” James muttered, blowing on his tea before drinking it in two burning hot gulps. A terrible habit Francis put down to having been raised wild on war ships.

He let his tea cool while he thought about what James said, watching the gentle firelight play soothingly over the walls and ceiling, while banishing all shadows from the room. 

“No,” he said after a while, glancing across at James who was content to sit as quietly as Francis was. “I think we had our honeymoon first, to be honest. And then…” He was embarrassed to call it being engaged, as it felt overly sentimental while also a little bit like a mockery of what the law would never let them be to one another.

“We are only engaged!” James gasped, obviously not having the same worries, raising his hand to his face as he affected shock. “What scandal! What renegades we are!” James grinned at him, turning to steal a quick kiss. And then another. Then sunk down to burrow under Francis’ arm, throwing a long, bare leg over Francis’ own as he settled in close.

They fell into silence again. Francis drinking his tea while James inspected the pattern on the counterpane, before catching up Francis’ free hand in order to touch every one of his knuckles in a rather thoughtful manner. 

“We are as good as married aren’t we, though?” he asked bluntly, his deep, smooth voice hardly breaking the peace around them.

“I think so, yes.”  
  


James tipped his head to smile up at him, then smacked a kiss to the back of his hand. “Excellent. I thought so too.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I did as much research on mid 19th century weddings I could, and anything that is incorrect is either my failing or creative license.
> 
> Thank's for reading!


End file.
